Punch a Tree, Start a War
by NotAHoax
Summary: The G8 find themselves in a strange, cuboid world devoid of logic, physics, and (gasp) politics. Is it merely another of England's spells gone wrong, or is there a much greater reason for their arrival? T for language.
1. Day 1 : Part I

((_My first crossover fic, and I'm trying to take everything into account. Pairings (which will develop throughout the story) - GerIta, FrUK, RusAme, possible JapanxCanada. I censor the f-word with an asterisk; don't ask me why. Thanks for reading._))_  
_

* * *

Taking into account all that had happened, it really wasn't so strange, Germany mused, combing back his hair with one hand. England was prone to creating disturbances in the fabric of reality, and even if these weren't "magic," as _he_ called them, they were quite real, and dangerous.

He ran over everything he knew about basic survival all the same, making lists, categorizing information, highlighting, **bolding**, _italicizing_. And then he dismissed it all with a curse and a quick intake of breath. He didn't even know if any of that would _work_ here, and he needed to find everyone else before he could form any kind of plan. He peered around, squinting a bit. _Damn_, those square trees were awfully distracting.

_Alright_, he decided, _just pick a direction and go. At least you'll be getting somewhere_. He turned and began jogging over the slightly spongy ground, passing in and out of patches of shade. A couple of red mushrooms caught his eye, but he ignored that – he'd read somewhere that the red spotted ones were, generally speaking, dangerous.

He stopped when the ground started giving way under his feet, more water than earth by that point. Frowning, he surveyed the greenish pool. _Right, well, I'd rather not swim in that stuff, but_…

-SPLASH-

He turned immediately to the source of the sound. About ten yards offshore, someone – something, maybe – was struggling to get to the surface of the water, but their progress was blocked by what... appeared to be a water lily. _Okay_, Germany told himself again,_ there is absolutely no logic here. Get used to it, Lud_. He took off his boots and socks and sludged into the water towards the flailing figure. He soon managed to destroy the lily pad by tearing the round leaf apart – nothing else had any effect. The swimmer broke the surface, gasping and grabbing for the nearest support – which just happened to be Germany.

"WHAT THE—America!?"

"OH MY F*CKING GOD—" America threw himself away from Germany, fell back into the water, sank under, shoved himself up into a standing position, and promptly started coughing violently. Germany looked at America with one raised eyebrow.

"Oh –f*ck- okay, what the -shit- hell is going –damn, sorry- on here?!" America demanded, still coughing.

"I thought you would know, seeing as England the idiot is _your_ brother, not mine," Germany stated bluntly. _Gott, finding_ anyone _would be better than _America.

"Okay, Mr. Friendly, before we start that, let me at least say thanks-" America walked past him, back towards land "-and get back onshore." Germany begrudgingly followed. "Cool, now start over. You said something about England?"

"Well, he's obviously the one that sent us here!"

"Whatever; I was in the break room. Screw meetings, man, you guys were just arguing about nothing."

"We were _debating_ about vital _issues_. Thanks for all your _help_."

"O-_kay_, lots of emphasis there… look, be mad about it or don't be – I don't have a clue what's going on, and I almost drowned under a lily pad. Now if you think that makes sense, fine, but I don't. England may or may not have sent us here – we won't know until we find him, and we're not really making any f*cking progress on that, now are we?" America grinned, victory flashing in his eyes.

"…You're right," Germany admitted. As much as he couldn't stand the nation, his statement had been the most reasonable thing he had heard since their arrival here, and he could follow reason.

"Yeah, I know. So – look, before sunset, let's just find some kind of shelter, and tomorrow we go rescue everyone else."

"Alright," Germany acquiesced. The sun was exactly at midpoint in the sky – noon. America could see this, too. He nodded. "Okay. Let me show you what I've managed to find out."

He walked over to the nearest tree. And promptly punched it as hard as he could. Germany gaped.

"No, dude," America said, looking over his shoulder, "it doesn't hurt at all. And look." He punched the tree a few more times, and it… broke. A cuboid chunk of tree, smaller than the trunk itself, fell at America's feet. He picked it up. "Now watch." He frowned, seeming to concentrate on the block of wood. And it _changed_. "Here," America said, handing Germany the new block. He stared at it and he realized that he somehow knew what it was called. "Wooden planks," he said, and America nodded. "Yeah, it sort of… tells you. I've been trying to figure it out. See, I've got dirt, sand, these blobs of clay – actually, that's what I was digging up when I got trapped – and as far as I can tell, as soon as we obtain a block, we somehow know what it is. And… also, you can sort of carry as many of them as you want without actually… it's like they stack or something."

"Okay… Well, we can build a shelter with these, right?" Germany ignored the fact that the 'stacking' basically broke science.

"Yeah. No tools or anything. The blocks just stick together. And one block of tree gives you four planks, so-"

"So it's more efficient to use planks. Got it. We meet back here when we get… forty planks each."

"Awesome."

_Ugh. That word_. Germany frowned and moved to another tree.

* * *

They met up not long after, each with forty planks. They'd made good time, too, and Germany was finally starting to feel he and America had a chance at finding everyone else. At getting out of this mess.

"So I found a pretty good place for a shack," America said, leading the way.

"Oh. I found one spot but it didn't seem very easy to defend."

"Yeah, a lot of weird open spaces. But I think this place's cool."

"Hm."

America was right – it was a good spot. A small hill, rising just a bit higher than the rest of the swamp. Better yet, the ground actually felt _solid_. Bonus. Germany set down four planks at where the corners should be. America immediately began filling in the walls _without challenging his decision_, which Germany respected. Now that he thought about it, America really wasn't so bad when he wasn't suggesting impossible solutions to problems (cough- global warming incident -cough).

Germany was experimenting with the planks now, and he quite by accident made what looked like a workbench. His mind said 'crafting table' - he figured that was the item's name. He set it in the corner of the soon-to-be house. America shot him a glance, but did not look up from his work even for a moment. Germany continued his experimentation.

By the time America finished the roof, the sun hung dangerously low in the sky. Germany had made sticks, steps, slabs, fences, ladders, and tools out of wood, and distributed some to America, who nodded his thanks, then walked over to the crafting table. "Lemme try something," he said, laying out planks. Immediately, he made a door. Germany tried not to look too surprised at the feat, but was a bit miffed that he hadn't done it first. "Ah, don't sweat it," America said, "I could have just as easily made a bomb or something."

"A bomb made of planks?" Germany questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Good point. But hey, I _am _America."

"Hn. Anyway, put the door up and we'll wait it out until morning."

"'Kay."

America set the door in the doorway (surprise surprise, it immediately was set on hinges) and stepped back. Then he frowned.

"Doesn't look right, does it?"

"Try setting it down from outside," Germany suggested. America shrugged.

"Might as well," he stated, punching the door down and replacing it.

"Better," they both said simultaneously. Then Germany grunted as if annoyed and ran a hand through his hair. "Right, so I guess… _Gott_, I guess I'll take first watch."

"Dude, I couldn't sleep if there was a f*cking _cloud_ to lay on."

"Worried?" Germany asked, half-joking. He knew _he _was.

"No, man. Just, like, excited. Maybe kinda worried. Um… _anxious_." America let out an awkward laugh and peered out the tiny windows of the door. The sun was almost below the horizon, and orange tendrils of light gouged holes in the sparse foliage. Almost beautiful.

"Jeez."

"_Ja_."

* * *

It had been… maybe an hour – time, they soon realized, worked in a mysterious way here – and neither Germany nor America had been able to sleep anywhere or knew why. Germany had been punching through dirt blocks for a while when a shout from America jolted him upright.

"What the HELL is THAT!?" America had hollered, and was pointing into the blackness when Germany peered over his shoulder.

He flinched back in horror.

"What…?" he trailed off, unable to find the words to even describe the… whatever it was. It was a _person_ – or rather, it had been, once, perhaps. Half of its face was completely missing, hanging from its skull were burnt strips of flesh, its remaining milky eye caught the moonlight eerily. Its hands were held out in front of it as though feeling for any obstruction in its path, and every so often a cracked moan came from its tattered maw.

"Oh, _Gott_…" Germany mouthed, observing it more closely. It was pitiful, really – this dead, blind, limping creature. He could hardly stand to look at it before a wash of revulsion nearly knocked him off his feet. America was seemingly transfixed by its captivating atrociousness.

"F-f*ck… d'you think… it can smell us?" America asked.

"Probably not," Germany said, "there's no wind, and… if it's – dead – then most of the cells in its nose will have rotted away by now."

"Does it know we're here?"

"I guess not…"

"Damn." America couldn't stop following the thing with his eyes. Had Germany been as immature as the nation he was standing next to, he would have laughed. But he wasn't that childish.

"Is that another one?" he asked instead, gesturing.

"Oh, shit!" America exclaimed. This one was a skeleton, held together by nothing more than a few scraps of stringy tissue, jaw clacking with each step. It carried a shoddy bow, though it didn't appear to have any arrows.

"Okay. Okay. This is really bad. Like, _really bad_."

"No, _really_?" Germany remarked snidely. _How are its bones even held together?_

America exhaled loudly in mock offense. "Shut up! …Anyway, what are we going to do about these guys?"

"I don't know. I'm sure there are more of them, and we don't have the weapons or resources to take them out."

"So… we just… wait?"

"…_Ja_."


	2. Day 1 : Part II

The first thing he noticed was that it was cold.

Then he remembered that it was really no colder than normal - that he had become used to the warmth in the conference room - and he smiled grimly.

He plodded through the snowy landscape languidly, taking it all in. The only thing that really threw him was the fact that the sun was square; he really thought it to be both annoying and incorrect. He didn't mind the rest, mostly.

Trudging past a frozen pond, he spotted a red flower poking through the snow. Chuckling to himself, he plucked it from the near-frozen ground and tucked it behind his ear. He could _just_ see it out of the corner of his eye as he walked, and he thought it added some color to his surroundings.

As he walked, feeling pretty cozy in his long coat and scarf, he glanced around calmly for any signs of animal or humanoid life, but saw none. _Ah, well._ His thoughts drifted like the gently falling snowflakes, and he nearly tripped over a thin figure huddled on the ground.

_Oh_.

He brushed off some snow to reveal Italy's auburn hair, which stood out strikingly. He let out a short giggle, then stopped when the thought struck him that Italy was in no condition to be left out there in the cold. He stooped and lifted the slim Italian, carrying him quite dramatically. Snowflakes had landed on his long eyelashes and once again in his hair, giving him an almost ghostly appearance.

Russia smiled and continued on.

He leaned Italy against a mound – a block? – of dirt and started scraping out a hollow in the hillside. He caught on quickly to the universal punching method, and soon had a nice sort of dugout. He picked up Italy again and carried him carefully inside. Setting him at the back wall of the dugout, Russia then began replacing the dirt blocks, and it was soon comfortably warm on the interior (he made sure to leave a couple of spaces so he could see outside, and keep some ventilation).

After the heat became a bit stifling – stifling, that is, for him - he took off his heavy overcoat and, as an afterthought, draped it over Italy, who still hadn't even begun to shiver. _How long was he out there?_ It couldn't have been more than an hour or two… give or take. But soon enough, the wiry figure began to tremble, so Russia tucked his coat around him a bit more tightly. His shivers became more violent. Russia waited silently, not taking his eyes off of the Italian for a second. The nation curled up, burying his face in Russia's jacket, still not quite conscious.

Russia watched.

Italy continued shivering, and finally Russia simply got bored. His smile fading a bit, he crawled over to the makeshift window and glanced out. The sun had almost set, and Russia realized that the temperature inside the dugout had dropped by quite a lot. He filled in the 'windows,' leaving both nations in pitch-blackness, and made his way over to the shuddering Italian. He pulled part of his jacket away to use as a blanket, and Italy clutched at it feebly. Russia smiled, but took part of his coat nonetheless, lazily resting his head against the wall. Italy, upon noticing the sudden addition of warmth, leaned on Russia and curled tighter into a ball.

_But he'll hate me again tomorrow_, Russia thought. _Right now he doesn't know it's me. He probably thinks I'm Germany_. The thought made him smile, but sadly. He was really the only Power without friends, he knew, but the thought always hit him at the worst times. Half of him wanted to make the others suffer for having it so much better, but… the other half just wanted to share what they had. His grin disappearing, he bit back tears. He lightly brushed his fingers over Italy's hair, careful not to disturb the infamous curl, and he thought about an earlier time, when his house had been full and he had been warm.

Italy gave a small sigh, which jolted Russia out of his reverie. The pale-haired nation smiled softly and leaned his head on Italy's, letting sleep wash over him.


	3. Day 1: Part III

_Oh, MAPLE._

He hung on to that rocky edge with all his fragile might. But he could still feel himself slipping, and he knew he wouldn't last long. Oh, _why_ had he decided to go through the mountains!? _Why_ hadn't he just stuck with the desert?

'Course, he knew why. Because he wouldn't have lasted ten seconds more in that heat. And still, he supposed that the wind in his hair as he dangled from the cliff face was preferable over the hot sun beating down on the back of his neck.

Also, he had slaughtered some chickens earlier, and he had up to that point been on an almost Alfred-like survival high.

"Maple, maple, maple," he repeated, repeated, repeated. He knew nobody but himself would hear it, but it felt nice to let out some frustration. He could feel his fingers slipping, one by one, and if he tried to pull himself up the force would only dislodge him faster.

_I cannot believe I'm going to die alone… without anyone even noticing, _he thought.

_Well… maybe I can._

He felt his grip give way and he was falling.

And then his shoulders were nearly torn out of their sockets by the sudden stop as someone grabbed both of his hands and hauled him back over the edge. In his panic he clung to… to whomever it was and held on for dear life until long after his feet were back on solid ground; the only thing that brought him back to reality was a cry of "Canada! Could you please let go of me!?"

"S-Sorry!" Canada exclaimed, before letting go and stepping back – well, not _back_, but _away_. He grimaced as he saw the wrinkles he'd left in Japan's shirt, and brushed him off a bit, knowing the country disliked messiness. Japan calmly nudged his hand away.

"Oh, dang, um, Japan I'm-"

"It's quite alright," Japan replied, "just… please don't do it again."

"I won't, I really won't! Thanks for saving my life!"

"Do not mention it," Japan said. There was a short pause.

"So! Um. What have you been… up to?" Canada asked, certain that the eastern nation had been much more productive than he.

"I've managed to assess the situation and gather some resources, and I also have discovered a location to create a shelter."

Canada blinked, impressed – and feeling rather inadequate. "Oh, wow… uh, I've killed some chickens."

"How many?"

"Like, seven."

Japan gave a nod of approval and Canada felt a bit better. He was glad it had been Japan who had found him – mainly because anyone else would have forgotten about him as soon as he was up on solid ground, and anyone who wouldn't have – that is to say, Francis – was pretty much incompetent in the wild.

"So, where's this shelter place you found?"

"Just over this mountain here; not far. Would you perhaps accompany me?"

"Yes!" Canada blurted out, then - "Um, sorry." He didn't want to sound _too_ desperate.

"It does not seem as though you have much of a choice," Japan acknowledged, turning.

* * *

"This cliff?" Canada asked, intimidated. Japan nodded. "Here." He handed Canada a pickaxe.

"Did you make this?" Another nod. "Wow."

"You should begin work hollowing this cliff out. Make the ceiling three blocks high, and maybe… eight wide and six deep."

"Isn't it just temporary? We _are _going to find everyone else… right?"

"Good point. Two high, six long and five deep."

"Okay," Canada said, beginning work. "What are you gonna do?"

"I will scout out the area and see if there are any resources to be gathered."

"'Kay."

Canada had the space hollowed out by the time Japan dropped down from the cliff face in front of him, scaring him nearly out of his wits. Japan surveyed his work.

"Here," Canada said, handing him the stone he had obtained, "can you make anything out of these?"

"Of course," Japan replied, and entered the shelter.

"Oh, and I wanted to ask you about-" he followed and gestured to the far right corner "-this."

"It's coal." Japan had scarcely even glanced at the odd block.

"Oh! That's what I thought but I wanted to confirm… It doesn't really look like coal…"

"Understandable."

"I'll just, uh, mine it then." Canada hadn't broken but one block when "Oh, jeez!"

The pickaxe's handle had split right through; it was useless.

"Here," Japan merely stated, tossing him a similar implement, but of stone, "try this."

"Th-thank you." Canada mined out the rest. He stopped when the lighting behind him changed. Japan was looking pleased with himself – he thought – and was placing torches on the walls, in the corners.

"How…?"

"Coal," Japan replied, "you put it over a stick on the crafting table."

"God, I'm hopeless."

"You just need to practice." Japan said it in the same tone he always spoke in, and Canada couldn't tell if it was out of pity or not. Though he supposed it was appreciated all the same.

* * *

It was night, and the landscape was an enormous shadow save for the interior of Japan and Canada's little cave (Canada had filled in the wall and they were shut off from the outside except for a single pane of glass). Japan had made a furnace and Canada had copied the action; they were now waiting for the chicken to cook over the leftover coal. Canada was messing around with the rest of the wooden planks Japan had gathered.

"So tomorrow we take our stuff and move out?"

"I suppose…" Japan said, "But… we do not know where anyone is, and this world seems endless… I started on an island not far from shore and had to swim my way to this place."

"Yeah… I started next to a desert… I figured I'd be able to get further somewhere colder."

Japan nodded in agreement. "That seems wise."

"Are you worried about your friends?" Canada asked.

"Hm?"

"Germany, and Italy. Are you worried about them at all?"

"Oh. Germany can take care of himself, and as long as he's with Italy, I'm sure they will both be fine."

"…But… we started alone…" Canada stated, turning a stick in his hands nervously.

"Are you worried about your brother?"

_Did he just change the subject?_ "Um… not really. He can be crazy, but… Al knows when to be serious if he has to."

Japan nodded, betraying nothing. There was a long pause, then the dark-haired nation got up to check on the birds. "I think they are done cooking," he commented, and Canada went over to look. They did indeed look done, so Canada helped Japan exchange the two cooked chickens for two raw ones. They ate in silence.


End file.
